What Are the Chances?
by googleit6
Summary: What happens when Nathan Drake and Elena Fisher happen across a bar where Desmond Miles and Lucy Stillman work? And what will Nolan North have to say about it? *Major AU*


**A/N: Okay... This is definitely a strange one. It's a crossover between two awesome games, Assassin's Creed and Uncharted. Obviously it's AU, as Desmond is still a bartender, and Lucy is just a waitress. This was supposed to be a light, fluffy fic, but that wasn't how it turned out. It gets a little lighter at the end, and the writing style differs a little bit... Or so I feel. At the beginning, it was just supposed to be sort of a chance meeting between Desmond and Nathan (Both voiced by Nathan Drake) but it turned into something a little more... Serious.**

**Anyways, Enjoy!**

* * *

Desmond Miles was cleaning the bar with one of the stripper's haphazardly thrown gray, stomach baring tee shirts- Ginger wouldn't miss it. If Desmond knew how her shift would turn out, -and he _did_ know- she wouldn't be needing it. She would stumble out of one of the back rooms, piss drunk and exhausted, with a dead eyed marketing executive, who was wearing guilt and sex as cologne, masking his expensive name brand- in an all too familiar scene to Desmond- who had told his wife he was staying late at the office, following her.

Ginger would pick up one of her slightly more modest tee shirts from her locker in the room marked "Employees Only", -even though more hollowed out business men had been laid in there than in the back rooms, most likely, as the excitement lay in the fear of being caught- and return to do it all again the next day, her eyes not straying to the small bundle of gray cotton that Desmond would inevitably be using to wipe up dried vomit, spilled beer, and other god-awful sticky substances he didn't want to identify.

There was hardly enough fabric to hold the grime from merely one of the bar's many dirty, scruffy, and generally unpleasant regulars. Every night, dusty, scraggly, just-fallen-off-the-wagon men- and a rare woman- would show up, following the call of liquor like it was the only solid thing that they could hold on to. Then again, with the amount of liquor one desperate man can drink in one night, and multiply that by however many showed up each night, the bar was certainly doing well enough to not be going anywhere anytime soon. It was a vicious cycle. The bar was kept afloat by men who, if they were courageous enough to look at their own true desires, would rather see the place they dwelled more than their own homes be burned to the ground, yet they kept coming back when they got within the boundaries of those true desires and could barley brush them with a twenty foot pole. Their true desires to see their alcohol addictions kicked kept sending them back to the bar, trying to drown those wishes of a more sensible man in five beers and a couple of tequila shots. Fear did strange things to people.

_The Silver Tongue _was a name Desmond could still not say without feeling a shameful heat creep up the back of his neck and cheeks, even after six months of working there as a bartender. Everyone in the district knew of the bar, yet it was like a loner in high school. Everyone knew your name, but few dared go near you, except to ask for a pencil, or knock all of your books out of your unsuspecting hands- although after a few months of being made fun of, and the bully's realization that you wouldn't respond in any way, shape, or form, they found it best to leave you alone, and if they were brave enough to admit it to themselves, they would say that they were at least the smallest bit wary around you. In this case, the polite students who inquired about the possible use of one of your pencils was the curious few who ventured in every once in a while, looking for an adventure, or possibly hoping to "just have one drink" for staying sober for those last, now irrelevant, five months.

The bullies in this scenario were the police, who, after having busted _The Silver Tongue _many times before Desmond's employment, had given up on ever finding anything illegal about the place, however hard they tried. Now, they just left it alone, and even a few of the police officers, who had come for the bust, stayed for the booze and… well, busts.

The regulars of the bar, the "lost souls" as Desmond had affectionately named them, were the kids who dyed their hair black and had turned their parent's hair prematurely gray. They sat at the loner kid's lunch table, only because there were no other tables, but they made sure to keep their distance, and keep contact with the loner to a minimum. People who, at the best of times, the loner could call mere acquaintances.

However seedy it sounded, _The Silver Tongue _was rather middle of the road when it came to sleaziness. Sure, there were strippers who would danced on more than one stiff pole a night, and yes, the furniture was getting on in years, but much of the greasiness and soot of the bar was a reflection of the patrons, not the bar itself. Desmond was the main caretaker, along with being the bartender, and the cleaner he kept the place, the higher his pay check was. That was enough incentive for him to keep the place looking as presentable as possible, and on a good day, at the right time, the bar actually didn't look like a mafia of some ethnicity was operating in the back somewhere between the stripper's rooms and employee lounge.

It was on one of these days, right at the beginning of happy hour, when the sun's rays -now more of a goldenrod than buttery yellow- shone through the windows Desmond had just cleaned this afternoon, that two people stepped into the bar, a man and woman.

Desmond had been mixing a Bloody Mary when he heard the bell above the door jingle, but he ignored it, per usual. No one bothered to greet the couple- and they _were _a couple, as the man had his arm around the woman's waist- simply because, things weren't done like that at _The Silver Tongue. _

As the couple took a seat on two barstools right in front of Desmond, he couldn't help staring at the girl. She was blond, with her hair up in a messy topknot. She was dressed plainly, in a white button down and dark jeans. The eyes were the wrong colour, -the mystery girl's were hazel- and her lips weren't nearly as shapely, but the resemblance was uncanny. The girl turned to Desmond, and their eyes met. With a slight nod, Desmond was off, taking his usual break at five o'clock. Jake, the owner of the bar, would take his shift for about half an hour.

He felt uneasy. When he had looked at that couple, the strangest sense of déjà vu had fallen over him, and he sat pondering this, until the staff room door swung open, revealing Lucy Stillman, a waitress.

Her blue eyes were alight with curiosity as she came and sat beside Desmond.

"Did you _see _that girl at the bar?" She asked, wide eyed.

"Yeah, I did." Desmond answered, sliding into the easy place he always fit into with Lucy.

"It was weird!" She exclaimed, laughing. "I felt so strange when I saw the couple. It was like I had seen them before somewhere!"

"Me too!" Desmond replied, shocked to hear that Lucy felt the same way he did.

"Yeah, that girl even had her hair up in the same style I always wear," Lucy said, indicating the topknot she always put her hair in.

Desmond smiled, his uneasiness melting away. Wasn't that always what happened when Lucy was around? Even when she was telling him something that he should have been worried about, he just couldn't bring himself to feel nervous or anxious.

"Personally, I think you work this hairstyle much better than what's-her-face out there." Desmond smirked, pulling the elastic out of her hair, causing blond waves to fall around Lucy's face.

Lucy smiled with her perfectly straight, white teeth. There was a mischievous gleam in her eye.

"Just a sec," She whispered, slipping off the couch.

She made her way to the door, and at first, Desmond thought she was going to leave. But then, there was a click.

She had locked it.

"Don't want a repeat of last time," She giggled, walking back towards Desmond, and straddling him, both of her hands on his shoulders.

Desmond felt his breath hitch.

"You know, it makes it more exciting when we _could _be caught," He mumbled, as Lucy had her face buried in his neck.

"Ohh," She breathed, looking him in the eyes. "It's too bad you feel that way. I was thinking about something… And I don't believe you would appreciate it if we were… interrupted."

Lucy shifted on Desmond's lap, and he simultaneously pulled off a groan and breathless laugh.

"And what, pray tell, would that be?" He asked, leaning back against the couch, and pulling Lucy with him.

Her hair covering both their faces, Lucy leaned in, and whispered something in Desmond's ear.

Lucy smirked.

"Does that make you… happy?" She asked pointedly, nothing Desmond's jeans were suddenly a size too small.

"Very." He said, pulling Lucy in.

Their mouths met with fervour, heat and lust and happiness melding in Desmond's mind, primal protectiveness and want joining the party.

Off with his thick sweater. Off with her white button down. Off with his jeans and her skirt.

Being with Lucy erased many thoughts from Desmond's mind- especially those that didn't deal with where her hands were at that moment, making him clench his teeth and fists- which was exactly why he wasn't paying notice to the many other dried "souvenirs" that had been left by horny, guilty businessmen over the years. Many of those men had left the door unlocked. Lucy obviously didn't care, as she was as willing to please as ever, and Desmond was waiting for his turn to reciprocate- they only had half an hour, after all.

***

At five-thirty, Desmond and Lucy emerged from the break room, straightening shirts and doing up zippers and buttons. Lucy's hair was back in its infamous top knot, and Desmond hardly looked different than when he went in, considering his "sex hair" was exactly the same as his normal hair.

He worked his way back to the bar, and smiled at the now oblivious patrons- Half an hour was long enough for a few of the curious lightweights to feel the affect of the alcohol, and some long time drinkers took as many shots as early and as fast as they could, their desire for the actual booze only outweighed by their desire to forget.

As Lucy returned to waiting tables, and Desmond started mixing drinks again, he could feel the melancholy that often invaded his usually tranquil mind during work hours. Seeing all of the hopelessness that sat in front of him, day after day, and month after month, it had started to affect Desmond, like a disease. Seeing the young, curious, "pencil borrowers" drink until their cheeks became gaunt and their ambition sucked out of them like they had been living in a vacuum packed bag for the last year took its toll on Desmond, and he had Lucy to thank for making him forget, even if it was only for half an hour, that such sadness and gloom were so prevalent in the world today. All Desmond had to see was the sorry sight in front of him at the bar, and know that expressions like that existed all over the world.

Looking up, and throwing on his best sympathetic-listener smile, Desmond saw the couple who he had seen a half hour previous. He hadn't seen the guy's face yet, but the girl was leaning on the bar, swaying slightly to the quiet, generic music that was coming from the speakers around the bar. She was drinking a beer, but by her countenance, she wasn't near drunk. It was probably her first one. As Desmond approached her, ready to offer to top off the beer, he saw the guy for the first time. The guy was handsome enough, -the two actually made a very striking couple, if the guy could wipe the dirt off his forehead, and the girl would change her extremely worn shirt- with a strongly set jaw, a classic, streamlined nose, and an "aw shucks" grin that Desmond was sure had won over many women, including this one, who seemed to be lapping it up. She was still leaning over the bar, but instead of concentrating on the music, she was deep in conversation with her counterpart. They were certainly serious, but that didn't stop the affection that poured out of every pore as thick as the tongue of someone who was on the verge of alcohol poisoning.

Not wanting to hover too long, Desmond approached the couple like any affable bartender would, and coughed to inform them of his presence.

"Would you guys like any refills? Or…" Desmond asked as they looked up.

He had faltered because at the sound of his voice, the man looked completely astounded -along with a hint of intrigue in his brown eyes?- and the woman's mouth dropped open.

Desmond was at a loss. He saw Lucy watching him out of the corner of his eye.

"Uhh…" Is everything okay?" Desmond questioned, as the couple looked at each other.

The woman looked at her partner and said, "Are you going to answer him, Nate?"

When he remained silent, she looked at Desmond and said, "Sorry about him… He gets like this sometimes- when a new mystery comes around."

"…A new mystery?" Desmond asked with great hesitation, and greater incredulity.

"Yeah…" The woman was staring at him strangely, but she seemed friendly enough. "Look, I think introductions are in order. I'm Elena Fisher, and this mute here is Nathan Drake."

Desmond was baffled, and felt his amiable façade slip even further off than it already had.

"I'm… Desmond Miles."

"And I'm Lucy Stillman." Lucy interjected, having come to see what was happening.

Elena nodded, smiling at Lucy. That strangeness was still in her eyes when she glanced at Desmond.

Elena turned and pretended she was knocking at a door- but the door was Nate's head.

"Hello, Nate. You have visitors."

Nate seemed to come back to Earth, and now he was smiling at Desmond, who was getting more uncomfortable by the minute.

"I would say that we've never met, but this seems like too big of a coincidence to ignore. We must have known each other in a past life. I doubt you're my brother… I'm sure my mother only had one son, and from what I've been lead to believe, she certainly never had a kid with someone else." Nate extended his hand, but it was Desmond's turn to be struck speechless. Lucy's eyes were perfect circles, and she had a delicate hand over her mouth.

"Oh my God…" She whispered.

Desmond understood what Elena had meant about a mystery now.

Desmond Miles and Nathan Drake had the same voice.

***

After the initial shock wore off, Desmond was floored. Lucy was astounded, Elena was intrigued, and Nate was floored, astounded, intrigued, _and _amused.

Nate's eyes gleamed, and Desmond saw already, that in barely ten minutes of knowing this man, that Nathan Drake _lived _for things like this. Anything in the unknown, and Nathan Drake was there. Desmond could already hear the theme song. It would make a great video game… _Nathan Drake: Mystery Hunter_. He even had the right name.

Nate and Elena were back to a deep conversation at their stools, and Lucy was sticking to Desmond like glue at the bar as he filled orders he had been ignoring for the past fifteen minutes.

"What the hell is going on?" She asked him, as he refilled one of the pretzel containers that the bar so generously provided- salt equals thirst.

"I have no idea." Desmond responded, his mind in overdrive.

As Desmond was ordering and categorizing things in his mind, and he finally calmed down a bit, he realized that, after speaking with Nathan again, that, in fact, their voices weren't _exactly_ the same- Although it was pretty goddamn close. Desmond's voice was a touch lower than Nate's, and their tones were completely different. Nate's tone you could hear from any con artist, trying to scam you into giving them all your money- there was a sarcastic and affable sound about it that drew you in. Desmond spoke slower, and with much more intensity. Desmond's whole demeanour was much more serious than Nate's, and Desmond's tone was very open and honest.

Still, talk about finding a needle in a haystack. And in this case, it was like finding _two _needles in said haystack, and they were right beside each other.

Very weird.

Desmond and Lucy made their way back to Nate and Elena as Desmond filled his last order.

"We have a theory." Nate announced with a grandiose sweep of his arms. Elena leaned away from him in distaste.

"What is it?" Lucy asked eagerly.

"It's a coincidence."

"What?" She responded, obviously not expecting such a simple response.

Nate folded his hands, and looked at Desmond.

"It's a coincidence." He stated solemnly.

Desmond's mind worked furiously, trying to make something from nothing. He had no idea how this could be possible.

"This is too big a chance." Desmond said slowly.

Nate smiled.

"You see," He began, "I make a living off chance. Sometimes it works out, sometimes it doesn't. I've been successful in the past, and it's been great. But everything I've ever dealt with that had to do with chance has had a lead of some sort, a legend, a document, whatever the medium is. I work with the chance that everything I've been looking for, everything I've been expecting to find, is really a big lie. Nothing but a colourful tale told to pass the time when the power's out. What is going on _here _is nothing more than two planets crossing paths. Is it a full moon tonight? It's just a coincidence, a freak accident, although that's not exactly the nicest term."

Nate leaned back, obviously satisfied.

Lucy looked a little unsettled, although it wasn't for the reason Desmond was expecting.

"...What exactly do you do for a living, Nate? You're not a serial killer or anything, are you?"

Nate laughed. "I'm a… fortune seeker."

Desmond's brow was furrowed, but as he heard Nate's answer, found himself looking up with amusement.

"A treasure hunter?" Desmond asked, smirking.

Nate returned the smirk.

"I have a 70's Chevelle -fully restored- out in the parking lot, if you'd like to take a look…"

Desmond was once again rendered speechless, although on this occasion it was because of those strange masculine-automobile you-have-to-have-a-Y-chromosome-to-understand kinds of stupors.

Elena rolled her eyes, and gave Lucy a knowing look.

"Okay, boys, can we get back to the subject at hand, please?" Elena huffed, not even fazed by Nate's obvious love for the car, but annoyed when a piece of shiny metal took precedence over a seemingly impossible phenomenon.

"What else is there to discuss?" Nate asked.

"Well… Just to clarify something…" Desmond was hesitant, surprised by Nate's acceptance of the subject as a mere coincidence. "What you're saying is that this can all be chalked up to the Doppelganger Syndrome of voices?"

"What other explanation is there?" Nate challenged. "You think God did this?"

"Not so much…" Desmond said, unsure.

Suddenly, a beeping noise sounded from somewhere in the general area of Nate's arm.

"Oh! We've got to go!" He exclaimed, jumping up from the stool, his beer untouched.

"Wait! What?" Desmond asked wildly. Elena looked at him with pity.

"This was our 'break'." Nate explained. "We have about two days to get to Scotland, and find a cramped tomb most likely filled with animal skeletons and dust. On the off chance that something else is in there-" Nate's eyes flashed at this. "We have to get there before some other, ah, _unsavoury _characters beat us to the punch."

This wasn't agreeing with Desmond at all.

"So you just dropped into a random, out of the way bar in New York when you're supposed to be halfway across the world, racing bad guys to a treasure in Scotland?"

Nate pursed his lips.

"Pretty much, yeah."

"We drop into a random spot every now and again- it gives us a sense of normalcy." Elena explained. She was now getting off the stool as well.

"Yeah. Thank you for ruining _that_." Nate said sarcastically. "We take a break maybe every six months, and we find a guy who sounds like he could be my voice double. Out of all the six billion people we could have met…" Nate shook his head, but it was clear that he loved this mystery just as much as he loved the cross-country chase of a priceless artefact.

"So… Are you just going to leave this, unsolved?" Desmond asked crossly.

"I solve mysteries for a living, Desmond. Don't you think at least one deserves to be left alone?"

And with that, Nathan Drake and Elena Fisher left the bar in much the same manner that they entered in. No one cared, no one noticed, and, most of all, no one was affected.

Desmond was.

* * *

**A/N: Strange, no? I never really planned to give this a proper ending, as there really is no proper ending, considering both characters are fictional. I always thought Lucy and Elena looked alike, and Elena _did _notice it at the bar, but Nate and Desmond's voice crisis kind of overshadowed that. It's weird, yes.**

**I hope you enjoyed anyways! :)**


End file.
